


To the Wonder

by dreamofhorses



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drunken Shenanigans, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Public Blow Jobs, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Threesome - M/M/M, Totes BFFs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-16 12:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14164956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamofhorses/pseuds/dreamofhorses
Summary: Now a multi-chapter fic! I'm writing more Nick fic, and since even in a fandom this small this ship is a little obscure I'm going to make them all chapters in one work to make it more easy to skip, for those who aren't as into the idea of Nick. Rating and tags have been updated to reflect the new content.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've long identified with Hammer family friend Nick Delli Santi, and a goofy photo of him and Armie surfaced after a Final Portrait screening the other night. It gave me such pleasure that I had to write Nick a little happy-ending story. Liz and Armie had to be on the outs for the story to work, and Timmy only appears indirectly, but sacrifices must be made...

Armie is drunk.

It’s nothing new, not even for a Monday night, and it’s getting more and more common now that Timmy’s back east, but it feels new to him every time he finds that perfect spot where everything’s warm and shiny and he can finally be _himself_. At Armie’s size, it’s hard to just get buzzed without overdoing it, without getting sloppy and drunk-texting Timmy or saying something to Liz that results in him spending the night on the couch, but right now he’s in that whiskey-fueled sweet spot and he doesn’t intend to leave it.

One look at Liz and he thinks maybe tonight he’d prefer the couch. She can toddle off to bed in her pressed pajamas ( _seriously, who irons their pajamas?_ ) and he can stay up as late as he wants, watching comedy specials and polishing off the pot-laced gummi bears he and Timmy had bought on Timmy’s last visit. It wouldn’t take much for her to banish him, and half the things he’d say were just things he thought every day and would love to get off his chest. _Your hair’s looking lovely and shiny tonight, dear, not as shiny as_ **_his_ ** _, but close. So how about that movie we watched last night, did you even see past the credits while you were busy posting on Instagram? Hey, here’s an idea, let’s buy Harper something_ **_blue_ ** _for once!_

When Liz sees him glance at her she meets his eye, mouth still curved in her media-honed smile, but her eyes roll almost imperceptibly. She’s _over this_ already, sick of him listening to sad country music that reminds him of hugging Timmy goodbye in Austin, sick of him smoking more cigars than usual in an effort to bring back his moment with Timmy on the grass. She doesn’t care that Armie didn’t know when he’d get to see Timmy next; more accurately, she _does_ care and seems to enjoy the fact. Armie sighs and takes a pull from the flask in his pocket. Nick’s walking a few paces ahead of him, and Armie fakes stumbling into him. It gets him the hell away from Liz and her vapid smell of aerosol hairspray and uneaten baked goods, and he plans to offer Nick a drink from the flask.

 _Nick._ When Armie grabs Nick’s elbow, pretending to hide behind his back as a photographer snaps a picture, Nick’s plaid jacket is soft, a finer weave than it looked from a distance. When Armie breathes in, Nick smells of a dark, spicy musk, a more assertive scent than Armie was expecting, with an undercurrent of the tropics, like sunblock from a surfing trip three days earlier. Armie realizes Nick may have _actually been_ surfing three days earlier. He’d been so caught up missing Timmy, arguing with Liz, and making sure to spend time with the kids, that he had no idea what Nick had been up to. _What does he do when he’s not with us? Do I ever ask? I think he flies planes sometimes? What else does he know? What else does he do?_

Before Armie can put the brakes on this line of thought and compose his face, Nick turns to him and catches his eye. The photographer has moved on. When Nick makes eye contact Armie knows he must still look intrigued, must be looking at Nick as if just now seeing how many layers he might possess that Armie has never bothered to explore. And when Nick sees this in Armie’s eyes, he holds his gaze, and one side of his mouth starts to curl in a mischievous, knowing, and relieved smile.

Nick tips his head toward a row of wide columns near the Pacific Design Center entrance. They lead underground, to a garage that’s been closed for the night due to the special event. Armie has pulled the flask from his pocket without thinking, ready to offer it, but now sees very quickly another direction that the evening might take. And Nick had seen it first. Armie realizes he was right. There was clearly _a lot_ he had not learned yet about Nick. Armie glances back to Liz, waves the flask in Nick’s direction, and veers off the sidewalk toward the columns.

 _She doesn’t even question it_ , Armie realizes. She thinks Nick is safe. A friend, on her side, not a threat. The look Nick is giving Armie as they walk toward the columns tells him none of that is true. They head toward the underground entrance of the garage and Nick pauses to lean against the back side of a column, out of view of the road. He reaches toward Armie for the flask, holding eye contact. He tips his head back and takes a long drink of the whiskey, and when he lowers his head again Armie is there, inches from him, not bothering to hide the need in his eyes, and Nick matches it, stares back. He’s been waiting for this, but he doesn’t need it, and doesn’t want to push or startle or make any wrong move that will divert Armie from what he’s asking for.

Armie takes the flask with one hand and slips it into Nick’s inside jacket pocket, sliding his hand slowly along Nick’s chest as he does, testing, and when Nick stiffens slightly Armie knows he’s brushed against Nick’s nipple, With his other hand he grabs both Nick’s wrists roughly, raising them above his head and pressing them against the concrete column. He takes his hand away and Nick keeps his wrists and hands raised at first, as if he knows what Armie needs, as if he’s been watching and noticing during all the times Armie was watching and noticing other things entirely. Armie leans in and presses his lips to Nick’s, and they’re firm and assertive and Nick kisses him back right away, no questions asked and no hesitation. Nick’s stubble scratches Armie’s mouth. He’s not used to that. Timmy is so soft, unsure, barely even shaves--wait, is this the first time in a couple of minutes now that he hasn’t thought of Timmy? Is Nick enough to make him forget? Of course not, but for these brief minutes Armie shifts from longing to comparing, and that will have to be enough.

Armie pulls his lips from Nick’s and rolls his head to the side, resting it ever so briefly on Nick’s shoulder. Nick leans his head over, rests it on Armie’s for a moment, and what that says is _I know. I’ve seen it. I’ve always seen it._ **_She_ ** _wants to fix you._ **_He_ ** _doesn’t even know people can be broken yet._ Armie wonders if he’s imagining all this, seeing Nick as a comfort, a rebound, a blank slate that he can scrawl on and hopefully purge all this confusion. He pulls his head up to meet Nick’s eyes, and Nick’s looking him up and down, meets his gaze clearly, and in his eyes Armie sees that he wasn’t wrong. Nick does know, and his eyes now say _We_ **_are_ ** _broken, both of us, two shot glasses in an earthquake, broken into different pieces from the same cause, but for five fucking minutes let’s pretend it’s even possible to be fixed._

The fact that Armie has spent so much time around Nick over the years and never seen this side of him should probably make him sad. It should probably make him vow to be a better friend, to notice exactly the sort of nuance he’s clearly been ignoring all along. What it does instead, at this moment, behind a concrete pillar on San Vicente with his wife inside wondering how long it takes two men to finish a flask of whiskey, is make Armie incredibly aroused. He leans against Nick, pressing him against the pillar, and his hand finds the crotch of Nick’s gray suit pants. Nick’s hard already and his length is firm and warm in Armie’s palm. Armie’s caresses are hesitant at first and Nick doesn’t move, letting him explore, still holding his hands above him and scraping at the pillar with Armie’s touch. Nick’s breathing is calm, steady, although he’s clearly excited, and Armie enjoys the sudden realization that he may be the less experienced one for a change. When Armie realizes this, something inside him releases, relaxes, stops holding its breath, and he allows himself to think he might be guided for a change. Not ordered, not manipulated, just taken to a place he’s always wanted to go but had no map, by someone who knows the path with his eyes closed.

This realization also makes his grasp on Nick firmer, with intent this time, and as soon as Nick senses his determination there’s a shift in him, so subtle Armie doesn’t notice it at first, a streetlight flickering a single time when a transformer switch was thrown ten miles away. But it’s there. The voltage is different now. Nick brings his hands down, running one through Armie’s hair almost tenderly. Liz does it like she’s grooming him, and Timmy holds Armie’s hair like he’s drowning and it’s a lifeline thrown into the water at the last minute. It’s hot, of course, to be needed that way, needed like air, but at the thought that Nick could just turn and walk away from this and be fine, drop the subject, _man you sure were drunk that night_ with a jab in the ribs, another of Armie’s masks falls away and he lets himself be guided. Nick’s hand in his hair is pleasant, curious. Clearly Nick has thought of doing this before. His hand seeks, explores, catalogues, experiences Armie’s hair the way it _is_ , instead of the way it could be if he arranged it better, or the way it looks in dreams, every night, perfect and impossible. Nick’s other hand kneads Armie’s shoulder for a moment, reassuring and solid, and then pushes downward slightly. It’s a question.

It’s a question Armie already has an answer for. He’s being guided, and he knows his place. He slides down to kneel in front of Nick, and in doing so runs his long fingers down the front of Nick’s Hawaiian shirt. He can feel abs beneath, more proof of a lot of activities Nick did that Armie knew nothing about. The thought of someday touching them, kissing them, in a private environment, when he had seen Nick shirtless a million times at the pool or on a boat, takes Armie’s mind to even more unexpected places. When he reaches Nick’s waistband he goes to unbuckle Nick’s belt and finds Nick reaching down to unzip his pants, helping Armie along. When the zipper slides down, Armie is surprised to see Nick isn’t wearing underwear. He meets Nick’s eyes in a shocked glance before he can help himself, and Nick just cocks one eyebrow and shrugs one shoulder slightly. His confidence soothes Armie; it’s genuine, unlike Armie’s own, which is always slipping or betraying him or disappearing completely at the worst moments. Nick’s cock springs into Armie’s hand, firm but not straining, and before he can question where the idea came from Armie kisses the tip, gently, holding the kiss for a full second, and then he takes Nick’s length fully in his mouth. It’s a perfect fit. Nick’s hands thread through Armie’s hair, resting on his head and massaging it, not pushing, just holding. Just there.

Armie moves steadily, surprised by Nick’s stillness and willingness to let him find his own rhythm. Nick’s breathing speeds up, so Armie can tell he’s doing something right, but Nick’s letting him find his own way, Nick’s fingers slide down onto Armie’s neck and back up through his hair, ruffling it affectionately, familiarly. When Armie speeds up his pace Nick groans, low and quiet, and clenches his teeth so hard Armie can hear it. Armie flicks his tongue up and down the underside of Nick’s shaft, hears more moans, and picks up the speed of that too, until he feels Nick’s cock hit the back of his throat and stay there, Nick’s hands growing more insistent in Armie’s hair, and Nick thrusts twice before shuddering his release into Armie’s waiting mouth.

Armie snakes his hands around to hold the back of Nick’s hips, still holding Nick in his mouth, and with his eyes closed Armie inhales and exhales through his nose, once, and deeply. This feels comfortable. It feels solid and familiar in a way that Liz’s sugary evanescence and Timmy’s quicksilver intensity never can. He pulls himself off of Nick, who’s leaning against the column, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Nick opens his eyes and grins conspiratorially at Armie. He tips the flask toward Armie, an offering, a ritual. Armie’s got other things in mind, though. When he shakes his head gently, trying to say _I’d love to but don’t take it personally if I don’t_ , he sees actual recognition in Nick’s eyes. There’s none of the innocence or willful ignorance that makes Armie tend to overexplain. This time, there’s no need for explication at all. Nick tips the flask and empties the remaining whiskey down his throat, then cocks his head once at Armie in a _come-here_ gesture. When Armie leans in, Nick brushes his lips gently against Armie’s cheek. When Nick pulls away, he shakes his head gently, once, twice, and then says, “Come on, we’d better get inside. Even _she’ll_ notice eventually.”

When Armie takes his seat at the Pacific Design Center for the screening, he gives Elizabeth the deepest, longest kiss they’ve shared in quite some time. If she thinks he doesn’t taste much of whiskey for someone who ducked off for a drink, if she notices that he does taste of _something_ but can’t tell quite _what_ , well, she can never quite bring herself to mention it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Charmie/Nick threesome, I've envisioned this a lot of ways so there may be more chapters about this in the future.

“Awww, it’s so  _ early _ .” Timmy whines. “Don’t get me wrong, I love waking up like this, but  _ just once _ could the morning sex start after 8 am?”

“But you’re so cute when you’re sleepy,” Armie teases, burying his nose in Timmy’s curls. “Besides, today we can go back to sleep. Everyone thinks we’re out of town this weekend. It’s a shame people like us so much they won’t stop inviting us places unless we say we’re in Mexico.”

“That was supposed to be so we could drink wine and play video games and never leave the house, not so you could get me up before dawn, you know,” Timmy murmurs, but he’s already rolling over in bed, onto his back, breaking up their spooning. When he feels Armie brush against his thigh he gasps at how hard Armie is already, and suddenly seems much more awake. Timmy nuzzles under Armie’s chin, lazily starts to work him with one hand, then squeezes tighter, narrowing his slender fingers around the tip of Armie’s cock. Armie lays back on the tangled sheets, which still smell of their encounter the previous night. He stiffens a little more in Timmy’s hand at the memory of rolling into bed with Timmy, wine-drunk, play-wrestling, then teasing each other with their tongues for half an hour before bringing each other off so quickly they’d fallen asleep with the lights on.

Timmy brings his mouth to the tip of Armie’s cock and swivels his head around in a slow circle, moving his tongue in the opposite direction and bathing Armie in contradictory sensation. Armie exhales shakily, biting his lower lip to keep this from ending too soon, and when his eyes flutter open in the direction of the doorway he sees one of the lights that they left on in the kitchen suddenly shut off. For a moment he’s so turned on he can’t remember if that should bother him or not. Maybe it’s something he can deal with later. Then he distinctly hears someone set something rather heavy on his kitchen counter, and adrenaline first makes him harder, then softer in Timmy’s mouth. Timmy hasn’t heard the noise and flicks his eyes toward Armie in confusion.

At that exact moment, Nick’s head appears in the bedroom doorway. He’s in a casual striped shirt, holding a bottle of wine. Armie remembers now that he’d given Nick a key ages ago, in case he ever needed to feed the dog while Armie was away, and NIck was probably there now checking up on things, thinking Armie was in Mexico.

The look in Nick’s eyes when he finds out Armie is definitely not in Mexico makes Armie hard again instantly in Timmy’s mouth. Nick looks like he might not have slept from whatever he’d done the night before, and at the sight of Timmy crouching between Armie’s legs a diabolical and  _ very _ interested smile spreads over Nick’s face.

Nick clears his throat softly, lets the wine bottle knock against the door frame to alert Timmy without startling him. Timmy’s head whips around, curls tickling Armie’s thigh, and when he sees that it’s Nick there he seems both relieved and panicked in a way Armie’s never seen. Timmy’s eyes flick between the two of them until Armie realizes Timmy’s  _ seeking his approval _ , that he’s worried he might have made Armie or his friend mad, and the reason this looks unfamiliar is that he’s always had Armie’s unconditional approval every moment they’ve been together. Until now. This is the first time he fears he might lose it.

Armie is trying to figure out how to show Timmy that it’s OK when Nick drops the wine bottle onto the carpet, crosses the room in three long strides, and kisses Armie full on the mouth.

This is not the first time this has happened, though of course Timmy doesn’t know that. There were kisses, furtive hand jobs, a couple of mornings waking up in the same bed hungover and in boxers, questions mutually left unasked. Knowing each other,  _ trusting _ each other, for as much of their lives and in as many places as they had, it was bound to happen. One type of closeness leading to another. But it’s never happened sober. At 8 in the morning. With a...Timmy in the room, realization dawning on his face as he watches the kiss, a devious smile quirking his mouth when the softness of Nick’s mouth makes Armie’s cock bob against his stomach with arousal.

“Oh,” Timmy says under his breath, so softly it might just have been an exhale. “Oh, so you--” Then all the pieces seem to fall into place without further words, and Armie breaks away from Nick’s mouth long enough to see Timmy sit up between his legs and reach into their nightstand for the lube. When Nick looks over to Timmy with similar interest, Timmy’s mouth does that thing that says  _ oh yeah _ and  _ who, me? _ and  _ well then, if that’s what you came for…  _ all at once. Armie knows it well.

Timmy drizzles a thin stream of lube onto two fingers, twists them in a fist to warm them, and the memory of his hand doing the same thing to Armie’s dick not five minutes earlier makes a thin stream of precum dribble from the head of Armie’s cock onto his stomach. It tickles. Armie doesn’t notice. Timmy plants himself back between Armie’s legs, his back to Armie and Nick this time, and presses his shoulder blades down into the mattress, presenting the long slender line of his thighs, shaking now with excitement and stress, and the alabaster curves of his ass. With one slick finger he circles his entrance, trembling when he starts to press inside, then working both fingers in faster than Armie’s ever seen him do it before. In a matter of seconds he’s working himself open for Armie and Nick, the red rim of muscle pulsing as it envelops and releases Timmy’s slender fingers.

“Fuck.” For a second Armie thinks he’s the one who said it, because it’s sure as hell all he’s been thinking for the past minute. But it’s Nick who has said it, and when Timmy hears proof of the attention he was seeking he turns with a satisfied smile on his face and crawls slowly up the bed until he’s in Armie’s lap, pressing the angry red tip of Armie’s cock against his slick entrance. Just as Timmy sinks down on Armie with a sigh, taking his full length all at once, Nick grabs the back of Armie’s neck, kissing him again, and Armie closes his eyes, the sensation of Timmy’s warmth and tightness and Nick’s open softness all too much, too fast, and yet just enough for forever. At the sound of Nick’s hand scrabbling to remove his tracksuit pants something pings from a back room of Armie’s memory, something he never thought he’d need to know yet which should have told him exactly where this would end up.

( _ Years ago, the Caymans. Armie was drunk, by rights Nick should have been too. Thought Nick ws drunk when he said “kiss my ass”, and Armie said, “you wish.” In a snap Nick was sober, looked him somehow straight on and from the corner of his eye at the same time, said, “sometimes,” and was suddenly off to the next table, cheerful drunk act perfectly back in place, calling for a round of tequila. _ )

“I want,” Armie says against Nick’s mouth, though the list of ways that sentence could end is incomprehensibly long at this very moment. Timmy’s riding Armie slowly so that every hitch and drag of the skin of Armie’s cock against Timmy’s ass is amplified, the cool morning air of the room a contrast to the immemorial warmth inside Timmy every time Timmy almost pulls off. 

“I want to--oh, fuck!” When Timmy sinks all the way onto Armie and settles back, Armie almost short circuits. “I want to kiss you, Nick. You know-- _ there _ .” There are probably more suave ways to propose a rim job. Right now Armie is incapable of remembering them. With his years of interpreting single words from Armie with unfailing accuracy, Nick proves to require no explanation. He cocks an eyebrow, tosses aside the tracksuit pants he was already removing ( _ does he usually not wear underwear? _ Armie makes a note to investigate this further when his brain works again), and lifts himself easily up onto the bed, planting one knee confidently above each of Armie’s shoulders. Nick faces Timmy, and Armie can’t say he blames him, because watching Timmy ride his cock happens to be one of Armie’s favorite sights in the world also. Nick sinks down over Armie’s face, stopping just an inch away to let Armie take the lead, and when Timmy bounces up and down  _ hard _ twice on Armie’s cock Armie buries his face in Nick’s ass with a fervor that would surprise him if he were still capable of naming his emotions.

He starts off slow, reasoning that Nick will like what Armie himself likes, it’s always worked before in life, but Timmy starts working himself faster, Armie can only hear and taste but he feels Timmy’s thighs slap against his own, the occasional whispery tickle on Armie’s stomach that tells him Timmy is working himself with his hand now too, and he curls his tongue, presses straight inside, spreads Nick apart with his thumbs and licks a wide circle around his rim before pressing back inside. He traces each ridge with his tongue in a slow circle and then plunges his tongue fully in, thrusting two, three times, tasting this one part of Nick that he has never shared in, the clean musk of it, and from above him comes a moan that he can’t even identify at first. When it’s repeated again he realizes it’s Timmy, that moan that only comes when someone’s touching his neck or his nipples, and he can’t help it, he caresses Nick’s entrance with his thumbs while rolling his head to one side. 

Timmy is riding him in earnest, knowing Timmy he’s probably going to come in the next couple of minutes if this is his pace. Every few thrusts Armie feels Timmy tighten around him in preparation for the pleasure to come. Timmy’s hand is working his own cock so fast it’s just a featureless blur to Armie. Nick is leaning toward Timmy, one hand on his dick, but working more slowly, like he’s savoring this. Nick’s other hand is on Timmy’s collarbone, and when Nick leans further to kiss Timmy he tightens his hand around Timmy’s throat. Armie briefly wonders how Nick knew about that fetish and then remembers the GQ party, Timmy’s bruised neck under a white T-shirt, his excuse that a groomer had burned him with a curling iron. Nick had shot Armie that same knowing glance from the Caymans, and if Armie had been thinking back then he probably would have seen that as what it was, one more sign that they were all going to end up here eventually.

“Fuck,” Timmy gasps, or would if he had more air. As it is it’s more of a wish than a word said aloud. Nick releases Timmy’s neck, kisses down his throat and back up to his mouth, and bites at Timmy’s lower lip. Timmy whimpers, increases his pace on Armie’s cock, and Armie knows he’s going to come any second so he reaches around Nick’s hip to grab Nick’s cock in his own hand. When Timmy sees Nick let go of his cock, sink back onto Armie’s face, and just let Armie pleasure him, Timmy comes with a short cry all over Armie’s chest, taking shuddering breaths as he pulses around Armie’s dick to draw Armie’s orgasm out of him.

When he feels the tight heat of Timmy’s orgasm around him Armie suddenly feels his dominant side awaken, the one that’s been dormant this whole morning as he let himself watch and be led, and he brushes Nick’s hip firmly to one side until Nick is sitting beside him on the bed. Then he sits up quickly, holding Timmy’s hips to lay Timmy down on his back. As Armie slips his cock out of Timmy’s throbbing warmth he sighs at the loss but quickly replaces it with his own hand, tapping Timmy’s chin with his other hand. Timmy knows what this means to Armie:  _ open. now. take what I give you _ . Now Armie’s fist is flying on his cock, chasing the orgasm that Timmy had been building for him, and he closes his eyes for a moment to keep the sensation from overwhelming him. When he opens them again Nick is beside him on the bed, beside Timmy’s chest, working himself also and aiming at Timmy’s shining pink lips just like Armie is. 

He and Nick have never been particularly competitive with each other before this moment. To Armie both their hands are a blur on their cocks. When Armie comes he aims for Timmy’s carnation-colored lips, sees Timmy flick his tongue out in anticipation, and then the corners of Armie’s vision blur, he brushes the head of his cock over the outline of Timmy’s lips and stains them white with his release. At that moment he feels Nick grip his wrist, feels the throb of Nick’s own orgasm in his pulse, looks over to see Nick thumb the head of his dick and dribble his cum into the hollow below Timmy’s jawline, tracing his cock up Timmy’s neck to leave the last drops in the corners of his mouth. Timmy licks his lips thoroughly, nibbles at the bottom one, draws a final shaky breath, and then suddenly giggles as Armie and Nick are both on him, kissing him, kissing each other until no one’s sure who they’re tasting anymore.

Nick rolls off the bed first, wipes himself on his tracksuit pants and tosses Armie a towel from the dresser to clean himself up with. “God, I’m starving. I came over here for some breakfast and wine to chase away this hangover and--” Nick breaks off, looking at Armie and Timmy interlacing their fingers and diving back under the blankets. “Aww, come on, you’ve got a houseguest, you know,” he teases. “I know I can’t say ‘get a room’ when you’re in your room, but maybe a little hospitality?” Armie responds by tossing the soiled towel at Nick, who deftly ducks to avoid it. “Fine, I’ll cook the fucking pancakes. I guess I’ll do everything around here.” Nick winks, picks up the dropped wine bottle from the doorway, and saunters off to the kitchen, whistling as he goes.

The last thing Armie hears him say, yelling from the kitchen before serving them the best pancakes Armie’s ever had, is, “You guys really should go to Mexico more often!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Timmy plants another kiss on Armie’s cheek, much more openly and deliberately this time, flicks his eyes between Armie and Nick, and before Armie can even start to dread what that means Timmy has also leaned over to Nick and planted a kiss on his cheek as well. He whispers something in Nick’s ear, something that makes Nick chuckle, and at that sight a warm tendril of an idea glows in Armie’s stomach._
> 
> Yet another Timmy/Armie/Nick scenario which is completely separate from the other chapters here. I guess I just can't stop thinking of different ways these guys could all end up together...

As an island kid, Armie was raised to mistrust curacao. The place, the liquor: no one ever wanted anything to do with it if they could get something better. So when Timmy downs three neon blue drinks in the space of an hour, Armie starts to get watchful.  _ That much curacao isn’t a place anyone needs to go. _

 

Yet Timmy’s there, and from the looks of things enjoying the ride. Armie sticks to the bar, nursing a beer, maybe a fourth beer, but who cares. And it’s only when Timmy sidles up to him, bumps Armie’s thigh with his hip, teases, “how’s that nice weak beer,  _ old man? _ ” that Armie realizes he too may be a little too drunk for this. The barstool seems harder to keep his balance on than he remembered.

 

“Hey, Tim, you  _ just _ got back up to your normal weight, maybe give it a few days before you start trying to outdrink the frat boys, huh?”

 

“Your concern is touching, Armie, but you’re way more fun as a wrestling partner than a second dad.” Timmy sways on his feet, bumps a hip against Armie’s and finds standing up as difficult as Armie finds it to stay on his barstool. He stumbles a little, presses full length against Armie and tucks his head onto Armie’s shoulder for just a moment. His curls definitely aren’t shiny again from all the protein shakes he’s been eating. They definitely aren’t longer now than when Timmy-as-Elio would bump his head against Armie’s chest. And it definitely isn’t tempting to follow Timmy out onto the dance floor as his newly-healthy frame shimmies among the bar patrons. After all, Armie hates to dance.

 

But when the crowd parts and Armie sees Timmy across the room, his back to Armie, sitting on one of the bar couches--no, sitting  _ on someone’s lap _ who’s on one of the bar couches, he regrets stifling Timmy’s playfulness. He’s back to his regular weight now, he’s done shooting the film, and now they have a whole summer ahead of them to... _ to readjust _ . Armie doesn’t dare to hope  _ to recapture _ , but for a moment the idea is there. The Crema afternoon sunlight, close enough to Los Angeles’ golden haze if you squint. Slipping off into a closet, signaling in whispers and giggles, hands on each other before the door closed, Timmy biting his thumb to keep from crying out as Armie’s hand worked his cock. Timmy ducking under the lake while the crew was setting up a shot, taking Armie in his mouth, pulling off as soon as Armie’s dick hardened and bounding up onto the shore, giggling. Now that Armie can stop worrying, doesn’t have to tend to Timmy, they can work on getting that intimacy back.

 

He sighs and braves the dance floor, one of his least favorite places in the world, to tell Timmy this.

 

He stops dead in the middle of the room when he sees whose lap Timmy has fallen into.

 

_ Nick _ .

 

Of course Nick was there, he’d taken on logistical duties for the evening (a necessity when always-big, hard-drinking Armie and newly-less-skinny, competitive-drinking Timmy were in one place). But Armie’s not quite sure resting a hand on Timmy’s hip is one of Nick’s duties. Ruffling Timmy’s hair  _ definitely _ isn’t on the list. And letting Timmy lead him to the alley behind the bar, hands clasped, heads close as they shout into each other’s ears, is so blatant a breach Armie moves to follow them almost automatically.

 

_ But of course Nick doesn’t know. _ The thought stops Armie dead with one hand on the exit door. No one knows, except probably Luca because he seems to know everything before you even know it yourself. At first it was easy to dismiss as character bleed, then as unwillingness to let the characters go for a bit after filming wrapped. But over that fall and winter into the start of the festival season it had been harder and harder to find excuses. Excuses for Timmy meeting Armie anytime he flew into New York for meetings, sucking him off in a bathroom stall at JFK airport, finger held to the side of his mouth for silence. Excuses for sneaking into Park City a day before Sundance officially started, checking into a hotel under an assumed name, their room lit only by moonlight reflected on the snow, Timmy whimpering into the hotel sheets  _ more fuck deeper there yes  _ and then  _ my turn now _ until they no longer knew whose hands or mouth were whose.

 

When Timmy learned he would have to lose weight for his next role neither of them said he would stay with Armie while it happened, have someone to keep an eye on him while he filmed cross-country from home, someone who conveniently knew how to cook protein and grill vegetables when he needed to put the weight back on. But that’s what happened although neither of them said it. Armie did say, once, Timmy’s arms around his neck, Timmy’s mouth on his ear, “Tim, let’s just--let’s hold off a few weeks until this weight stuff is done, huh? I can’t--” he’d almost lost his train of thought as Timmy’s tongue lapped at his neck, “I can’t care for you and...you know,  _ care for you _ at the same time. I don’t want what I feel for you to get tangled up in making sure you get well again.” Timmy’s shining green eyes showed Armie his rare moment of total honesty hadn’t been in vain.

 

But that also meant if Timmy leaned his head on Armie’s shoulder, if Armie rubbed lazy circles on Timmy’s back with his palm while they were at parties or dinner, everyone thought it was just their natural affection compounded by Armie’s worry about Timmy’s weight regimen. Nick would think nothing of letting newly healthy Timmy be his usual flirty self. Armie realizes with a sinking feeling that Nick would probably just be  _ his _ usual flirty self back.  _ That’s probably exactly what he’s doing. Timmy with his “oh I’m so clumsy” hip-bumps that are  _ **_never_ ** _ accidents. Nick’s eyes getting shiny the way they do when he’s with someone he likes, his odd quiet chivalry. Fuck, Hammer, if you keep thinking this way you’re going to end up in a bar fight. With your best friend and your...your star-crossed whatever-he-is. Just...just head out there to check up on him. Nick will believe that. It’s the one card you have that he doesn’t.  _ And Armie shoves open the exit door.

 

He isn’t sure what he expected to find in the alley behind the bar, but it probably isn’t Timmy with a lit joint in hand, his back against a brick wall, giggling, leaning over to Nick to blow the smoke into his mouth. Nick’s a respectable distance away but, knowing how Timmy can be when he’s drunk, Armie knows any distance is about to start lacking in respectability. Armie lets the exit door slam behind him loudly and Timmy jumps at the sound. Timmy’s eyes land on Armie, his gaze growing warm, and for a moment Armie forgets he was ever upset. When Timmy looks at him like he hung the moon, all Armie’s ever been able to do is reach helplessly for the nearest ladder.

 

“Hey, Armie, having a good time?” Nick’s question is warm, curious; making sure the evening is a success is clearly still his first priority. But while he waits for an answer his eyes wander, rake the angle of Timmy’s jawline, and Nick shifts his weight so he’s closer to Timmy. Armie wonders if Nick’s even aware he’s done it or if he’s just fallen into Timmy’s gravity like the rest of the world.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I am, but the booze is wearing off and it’s late. You wanna stop by the house on your way home? I think Tim and I are going to head that way but you’re welcome to join us for a nightcap.”   
  


“Yeah, sure, thanks, Armie.” Nick breaks out of Timmy’s orbit to follow Armie. As they walk out of the alley Timmy headbutts Nick playfully, and Nick drops a single chaste kiss onto the crown of Timmy’s head without a thought. Timmy giggles, chews his lower lip, and runs ahead of them to the street corner, already tapping at his phone. Their Uber is there by the time Armie and Nick reach the end of the alley.

 

When they pile into Armie’s kitchen Timmy leans mischievously against the refrigerator, re-lighting the joint he hadn’t finished in the alley. Armie’s already got a cocktail shaker in one hand but at the sound of the lighter extends an ashtray to Timmy with his other, not even needing to glance Timmy’s way to make sure he’s got it. The practiced, easy intimacy of their movements draw a lazy chuckle from Nick, and when Armie turns to hand Nick his martini (dirty, two olives, no need to ask after all these years) there’s a warm realization in his gaze. Nick glances from Timmy to Armie and back again, then cocks an eyebrow at Armie. Timmy doesn’t even know a question’s been asked; Armie’s able to answer it with a sheepish glance at his own feet, a shrug of one shoulder, and what he fears is a totally smitten peek at Timmy. Nick beams at Armie happily while addressing Timmy: “Hey Tim, wanna turn on Netflix? We’ll bring the drinks in after you.” Timmy bounds off to the den and soon an episode of “Big Mouth” can be heard blaring. Nick lowers his voice. “I had no idea, man, I’m really happy for you. I didn’t mean--earlier, you know. Timmy and I are both flirty drunks and--”

 

Armie cuts him off. “No worries, Nick. I know. And--hey, thanks for understanding.”

 

“I just wanna see you happy,” Nick murmurs, carrying a tray of three martinis effortlessly into the den.

 

Four episodes later Timmy is half asleep on Armie’s shoulder, waking up only when a particularly funny gag makes Armie laugh the belly laugh that ripples through his whole body. Nick’s been locking eyes with Armie for the last half hour, glancing at him and then at Timmy, smiling fondly. Finally Armie relents, puts his arm around Timmy like he would if they were alone, and Nick outright grins as Timmy settles into Armie’s side unconsciously, half-asleep, in a way you only can if it’s the thousandth time. Then he stretches his feet out, bumps into Nick’s legs on the other side of the couch, goes to pull back. Nick grabs them, pulls Timmy’s feet into his lap, and Timmy settles in with a contented  _ hmph _ . 

 

By the time the next episode ends Armie’s back is starting to feel stiff and the drinks have nearly worn off. He moves his arm from Timmy’s shoulder, which wakes Timmy enough that he sits up, plants a half-awake kiss on Armie’s cheek, and arches his back. “Mmmm. Good nap. Bedtime already?” Suddenly Timmy seems to remember they have company. “Oh hey, Nick--” Timmy shoots Armie a worried look.

 

“It’s fine, Timmy. He knows.” Not only does Nick know, he seems to be stifling giggles at Timmy’s nervousness.

 

“Of course he does,” Timmy chuckles, his voice thick with sleep. “The Boy Wonder figures everything out.” He stretches forward, slim shoulders touching his knees, curls brushing the floor, then whips back up so quickly Armie starts to suspect his sleepiness was a bit of an act. “Well, I’ll be in the bedroom, so…” Timmy plants another kiss on Armie’s cheek, much more openly and deliberately this time, flicks his eyes between Armie and Nick, and before Armie can even start to dread what that means Timmy has also leaned over to Nick and planted a kiss on his cheek as well. He whispers something in Nick’s ear, something that makes Nick chuckle, and at that sight a warm tendril of an idea glows in Armie’s stomach.

 

“Well,” Nick says, “I’m just going to grab a blanket. Don’t worry, Armie, I know where they are.” Nick throws a wink over one shoulder.

 

The idea has worked its way up Armie’s spine and makes him shiver. Nick looks at him, puzzled, since the night is so warm. “Hey, Nick, what did Timmy say to you, by the way? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

 

Nick barks a clear, full laugh. “He said ‘you have a nice lap’. Which isn’t the first time I’ve heard that, truth be told.”

 

The idea slinks from the top of Armie’s spine into his brain and out his mouth. “Hey,” he says, too loudly at first, so that Nick turns back, concerned. Armie lowers his voice. “You--you don’t have to sleep here.” Nick gives him a quizzical look and Armie steps closer; it only takes one of his strides to close the space between them. “I mean, if you wanted,” Armie lowers his voice so that Nick will  _ have _ to lean in to hear him, “you can sleep in our room.” He places his hand on Nick’s arm. He’s done it a thousand times before and yet never once like  _ this _ .

 

“Oh--ohhh.” Nick’s brow furrows for a moment, then he clearly and visibly makes a decision. “Yeah, yeah. I think I’d like that.”

 

When they enter the bedroom Timmy is already beneath the covers, shirt off, scrolling through his phone. Armie enters first and when he catches Timmy’s gaze it’s bright, relaxed. When Nick steps out from behind Armie the fire of Timmy’s gaze grows darker, violet at the edges. “Oh yeah,” he murmurs under his breath. He catches Armie’s eye again and mouths  _ thank you _ .

 

Armie crosses to the bed, tangles his hand in Timmy’s hair, maybe tugs it a little as he tips Timmy’s head back for a kiss. “You’re welcome,” he whispers against Timmy’s lips as he pulls away. Then Timmy’s eyes fall on Nick, run up and down, appraising, feasting. Timmy throws the comforter aside and crosses the room to Nick, who’s cocking one eyebrow at the purple satin pajama pants Timmy is wearing. Armie shakes his head lovingly.  _ If Timmy ever, ever tries to say he was surprised this happened _ ,  _ remind me not to believe him. _

 

When Timmy reaches Nick he snakes his hands around Nick’s waist in an embrace not much more intimate than the brotherly ones they’ve shared before. Nick drops his head, buries his nose in Timmy’s curls, closes his eyes. When he opens them again he catches Armie’s eye for the briefest moment and grins. Armie wonders what Nick even saw. Then it hits him that he is in the room with the two people in the world he wouldn’t alter his gaze for, wouldn’t lock up his emotions or bluff his way into joviality. And while that’s comforting, it’s also, somehow... _ hot _ . 

 

Just as that thought hits Armie’s brain Nick cocks his head, dips his chin level with Timmy’s, and kisses Timmy fully, firmly, and apparently very well as Timmy moans a little and starts to move his hands up and down Nick’s back before walking them both backwards toward the bed.

 

Once Timmy stumbles off his feet onto the bed, Nick pulls away just long enough to strip his clothes off and throw them onto the floor beside the dresser. Then he kneels before Timmy on the bed, rubbing one cheek against Timmy’s satin pajamas while running his hands around Timmy’s waist beneath the waistband. Timmy whimpers and cards his fingers through Nick’s hair. Nick hooks his thumbs under Timmy’s waistband and sucks in a breath, then pulls at the same time that Timmy arches up off the bed to allow Nick to puddle the violet satin on the floor. Armie’s riveted and a little envious of their instant nonverbal coordination, but before that thought even has time to take root Timmy looks up at him, reaches for Armie with a clawing, possessive motion, and then it’s Armie who doesn’t have to be told what to do.

 

He steps out of his clothes, kicks them under the bed, presses his mouth to Timmy’s. Immediately Timmy grips Armie’s biceps to steady himself. Timmy’s hands start to tremble and he gasps a broken sigh which can only mean that Nick has taken Timmy’s cock into his mouth. Armie eases Timmy onto his back on the bed, peppering his mouth with deep kisses. The moans that usually fill the room when Armie is sucking Timmy off now flutter helplessly from Timmy’s lips into Armie’s mouth as his tongue nips at the backs of Timmy’s teeth. After a moment Nick pulls off and lifts himself onto the bed beside Timmy, planting a kiss on Armie’s lips as they arch over Timmy together. It’s the first time Armie has tasted Timmy on someone else’s tongue.

 

Nick’s hard now, too, and Timmy’s hand roams to Nick’s cock, squeezing languidly at first and then faster when Timmy rolls toward Nick, rubs against Nick’s leg, seeking friction. At this Nick falls to his side on the bed, takes Timmy’s dick in his hand, circles the head slowly with his thumb before starting to stroke in earnest. Armie spoons up against Timmy, flattening against his back, thrusting between Timmy’s cheeks and enjoying the slow drag of his dick against the curve of Timmy’s ass. Timmy whimpers, starts to bend at the waist to give Armie access. Nick lounges on Timmy’s other side, head propped on one fist, his cock now pressed against Timmy’s, his hand slowly but firmly stroking them in unison. He meets Armie’s eye and shakes his head in amusement; at this point his eyes can say to Armie  _ you lucky bastard _ in the space of a blink and that’s what they say now.

 

When Timmy moves against Armie Nick backs away a bit, unsure what they’re comfortable with but willing to follow wherever they’re going. Timmy bucks up against Armie, whining, and it’s all Armie can do to keep this from ending the way it usually does, Timmy’s back glistening with sweat, his hands in a white-knuckle grip on the headboard, Armie moaning at the feel of Timmy’s balls smacking against his own as he comes. But not tonight, not with Nick. Timmy needs to know there are some things that are still just theirs, that no one has  _ expectations _ that he has to live up to. 

 

Armie squeezes Timmy’s hip and rolls onto his back.

 

He thrusts out a hand and grabs lube from the nightstand drawer, then drizzles it onto his fingers. Armie opens his legs, props one foot on the bed. extends his other leg to encompass Timmy, to nudge him closer until Timmy’s crouched between Armie’s thighs. Timmy’s been watching the lube proceedings with interest but when he sees Armie start to touch himself, to tease his own entrance with his finger, for a brief moment the sex kitten Timmy becomes in the bedroom melts away. His expression opens, he cocks his head to the side and chews his lip. His eyes ask  _ are you sure? _ Armie grabs Timmy’s neck with his free hand, pulls him in for a rough kiss, and hisses into Timmy’s open mouth, “Yours. Only yours.” And it’s true; Armie had never bottomed for anyone before he met Timmy but now it seems like just one more way Timmy had blown all of Armie’s pre-existing habits and categories into tiny pieces. 

 

Timmy outright  _ pants _ into Armie’s mouth at those words and his hand flies to his own cock, working it slowly at first but then faster once he pulls away from the kiss and kneels between Armie’s legs, watching Armie circle his rim with first one and then two fingers. When Armie slips the fingers inside Timmy’s mouth falls open and his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. Nick shuffles to the foot of the bed, presses himself against Timmy’s back, hands massaging Timmy’s hips. Timmy arches into the touch, rubbing Nick’s cock between his cheeks. While Armie watches, Nick plants a row of open-mouthed kisses up Timmy’s neck, then follows them with small bites, not even enough to leave marks, but enough to make Timmy’s moans grow higher pitched and make him scrape his fingers along Armie’s thighs with mounting tension. 

 

Armie reaches for Timmy’s cock, spreads the precome on it around with his palm, and lines up its head with his entrance. He grips the back of Timmy’s thighs, and when Timmy rolls his hips and Armie feels the first swell of Timmy’s head entering him he moans brokenly. When Timmy pushes in slowly, firmly, seating himself fully inside Armie, Armie’s moans turn to whimpers. Timmy rocks forward, his cock at a new angle now that makes Armie sigh Timmy’s name in a long single breath, and then Armie realizes Timmy has moved to grant Nick access, that the lube bottle has vanished from Armie’s side and that he can feel Timmy moving his hips to allow Nick’s fingers inside him. Timmy rocks forward until his lips brush against Armie’s, and at that same moment Armie gasps because he can feel that Nick is inside Timmy now. Armie feels Nick’s thrusts through Timmy, rocking him gently back into the mattress, and Timmy leans back again against Nick, who starts peppering the back of Timmy’s neck with kisses.

 

For a moment Nick and Timmy are on different rhythms, so Armie feels Nick move into Timmy a moment after it happens, when Timmy rolls his hips into Armie, touching places his cock doesn’t usually touch because of the added force of Nick’s thrusts behind him. Then Timmy and Nick find the same rhythm together, and Armie realizes that every time he feels Timmy drive further into him, Timmy himself is feeling the same thing from Nick, and that thought makes him reach for Timmy, tangle his fingers in Timmy’s hair while Timmy pants  _ yes fuck yes _ into the sweat-filled air.

 

Timmy squeezes his eyes shut as Nick increases his rhythm, and Armie can tell by how fast Timmy’s moving that his orgasm is close. Timmy’s eyes fly open and lock on Armie’s, and they’re full of pure love. Nick snakes one arm around Timmy’s waist, holding him close, moving faster, and as Nick comes he bites down on Timmy’s shoulder, so hard it’s sure to leave a mark, and suddenly Armie’s struck with the same desire, to claim Timmy and show him that all the love he puts into the world is returned in some small way. Armie’s hand flies to his own throbbing cock, stroking at the same rate as Timmy’s thrusts, and when Timmy shudders into him, fingers gripping Armie’s thighs, Armie feels his own orgasm pulse through him, aims for Timmy’s chest, paints Timmy’s nipples and torso with his release.

 

There’s a throaty giggle from the end of the bed. Nick releases Timmy with a single soft kiss to Timmy’s shoulder, then tosses his own shirt to Armie. “Clean up with that; I’ll just send you my laundry bill,” Nick laughs. Armie wipes Timmy’s chest first, tenderly, and as soon as he’s cleaned up Timmy collapses against Armie’s side, one arm thrown over Armie’s chest. Shortly after there’s a soft snore from his side of the bed, which Timmy only does when he’s truly exhausted, a high tiny sound like the pages of a book being shuffled.

 

Armie wipes off his hand, chucks the shirt onto the floor. He pats the bed on his other side; it’s not like a bed big enough for Armie can’t also fit three people in it, after all. Nick has put his boxers back on and crawls in beside Armie, planting a kiss on Armie’s cheek before rolling on one side, breath evening out almost immediately. There, surrounded by the two people who have seen the most of him and given him so much love because of it, Armie only wants to say one thing. No one might be awake to hear what Armie whispers into the dawn-lit room, but it has to be said, now, in the moment he feels it most.

 

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm dreamofhorses42 on Tumblr for questions/prompts/general chitchat


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